Chapter 12: Basement Circus

Dear readers: What happens to poor Colleen Wing? We shall know all the gory details in the very next chapter. But, for now, let us visit her partner in crime Misty Knight at Manhattan's 12th Precinct. Meanwhile. . . . .

Investigator Misty Knight entreats the man before her, "Who is Bonnie MacDonald? And, where is she in New York right now as she prepares her dastardly doings against the Daughters of the Dragon? Some police report somewhere might hold a clue."

"Hell, Misty, I didn't even know that Shanna was in town," Cap. Raphael Scarfe answers, "much less a Shanna the She-Devil doppelganger." Scarfe is Knight's long-time investigative partner. He was with her during her police career, and he has been helpful during her p.i. one. Misty and Rafe visit in the 12th Precinct's basement archives.

The police captain smokes a cigarette amidst the flammable materials of the basement archives. In this era, public smoking is not yet banned from public buildings, and Scarfe uses the ashtray on the desk at which Knight sits. Misty inhales pungent, hot vapors from her steaming coffee. Scarfe's assistant Pam just brought a hot cup and then strolled back down the hall to her station.

"It's okay that you don't know everything, boy," distaff detective digs, "New York is called Mad City for good reason. Partially, we have so many costumed screwballs bouncing around the concrete canyons. How would one more odd, hero-hating shapeshifter even stick out?"

"Ersatz Shanna would be just another strange beast in the concrete jungle," states gray smoke, "What do we know about her specifically?"

"She might like big cats," says a mug behind a mug, "She visited Wakanda to pay her respects to two slain animals?"

"No shit? She must have money to spare," Scarfe sniffs.

"Nightwing Investigations thinks that she does," Knight nods, "A wealthy animal-loving villain could be Kraven the Hunter. Although, he would have to be in drag."

Raphael laughs, "Well, Kraven did have that furry boa on his costume. You never can tell some things. Although, I can tell you that the She-Devil ain't him. Kraven blew his brains out awhile back. He's dead."

Misty states, "Our foe Pavane is supposedly dead too. But, we girls suspect that Bonnie might be she. The dead panthers were hers."

"Is this Pavane a spy?" he wonders.

"Yes, a good one. She gave MI6 troubles several times," she affirms.

"I thought that she might be," the captain puffs, "Our suspect would have to be a master of disguise—like an espionage agent."

"Like a spymaster. Sure, I deduced the same instantly," the gumshoe sips java. Coffee vapor and tobacco smoke rise into a cloud over the two thinkers.

Upstairs, a battered officer enters the 12th Precinct station. The desk clerk notices his rough appearance and notices him. The desk clerk has never seen this patrolman before. "Smith" reads the nametag. Smith produces a card that unlocks the door into the station beyond the desk. He must belong, and the clerk lets him through. Besides, what criminal brashly and stupidly walks right into a police station?

Downstairs, Knight describes the sought shapeshifter, "Like Shanna, Bonnie MacDonald is a redhead, a wealthy woman, and a possible exotic animal-lover."

"You just described much of the Upper East Side," Scarfe chuckles, "Perhaps, we should look for her penthouse base there. How fortuitous would it be were we to look there and find her?"

Knight shares the chuckle, "That would be lucky. However, I suspect that she comes for me at some point. Remember, she wants Iron Fist, Colleen, and me. A girl never knows. An ominous, tall dark stranger could show up at anytime."

Scarfe juts his lit coffin nail at her, "Say, I can think of one more suspect. Didn't Iron Fist and you guys used to have a foe called Master Khan? That mofo hated you three with a fucken passion. By sorcery, he could alter his appearance. What ever happened to that creep-o? Where is he now?"

Misty waves a hand into the proximity's pall, "I have no clue. He disappeared. He could be as near or as far as anyone."

One floor above, Sgt. Tyrone King stands in the elevator. The doors open. Officer Smith steps into the car. Immediately, he notices that the car is strangely dark. It is very shadowy, and he can barely see. A very cautious man, Spymaster scans the darkness. From the shadows, King examines him back. The hood sees no one and nothing. Glowing buttons are the only lights in the dim closet. On a mission, his hand selects one like a moth selects a flame, just as King intended. And, the coffin descends, just as King intended. Standing right behind Spymaster, Tyrone King is Master Khan in diabolic disguise.

The doors open. Before him, Spymaster sees catacombs little better lit than the vessel that he exits. Before him, a blond-haired police clerk sits on her desk's top and flirts with her beau. Girlishly, she scissor-kicks the legs in her skirt. Gleefully, she giggles and blushes. With one hand, she plays with her glasses. With the other, she touches the arm of a gray-haired, grinning patrolman returning the caress.

"Hi. I need to use a computer to check a suspect's previous record," a villain interrupts the two.

Pam hops down from the desk, "Sure. I'll set you up on a computer. You can work beside Ms. Knight and Cap. Scarfe down there." Her thumb indicates two people a short distance away down a hazy hall.

There, Misty converses with a black-haired plain-clothes detective. Spymaster is glad to find her right where his electronic eavesdropping said that she would be. "Sure, please plop me right beside her," Smith winks at Pam, "Thank you." He steps to follow Pam.

However, unexpectedly, a strong hand grabs his arm. The old patrolman turns the new face around. "Ben McMurty," Officer McMurty takes Smith's hand and shakes Smith's hand, "I don't believe that I've seen your face before—bruised or otherwise."

Affectionately, Spymaster strokes his battle bruises, "I had to take down a wild woman around sunset tonight."

"Oh, I see. Did you call for back-up—Smith?" McMurty reads the unfamiliar face's common name, "I don't recall you calling for back-up on the radio." The police impostor just smirks and jerks his hand from the policeman's grip.

"Who was the perp? Is she anyone whom I would know?" the grizzled grills.

Smith has his conceits, "Yeah, Princess Python."

"And, you took her down all by yourself, did you?" McMurty steps toward Smith.

"Yeah. I did. Or maybe, I had some back-up too," Smith steps toward McMurty, "I don't remember." They are roughed face to roughed face. New Yorkers are aggressive types. New York cops are even more so. And, elite spies are even more so.

Yellowed teeth smile wide into reddening face, "Okey-dokey—son. You just go do your homework on Princess Python. I'll be around. Just follow my young bride."

"We're married recently," Pam takes Smith's arm and leads him away, "Ben and I have had always a crush on each other [see Namor, the Sub-Mariner #22]."

"Congratulations," Smith pats Mrs. McMurty affectionately while locking eyes with Ben.

Pam and Spymaster approach Raphael and Misty. Scarfe explains the archive's computer system to Knight, "You may check our database freely. Our station has an intranet between the computers. Just type in your search criteria to see what records can offer."

The Knight snickers, "I feel like Bruce Wayne at his Bat-computer in the funny books. Welcome to the 90s. Welcome to the so-called 'on-line age.' Welcome to the future."

Scarfe snubs his cigarette, "Yeah, I know. We'll see where technology and life, and this whole 'internet' thing, are in twenty years. For now, I have to go fight crime in Gotham. Good luck, dear." Scarfe departs.

Officer Smith arrives. Like the proverbial spider, he sits down beside her, but she does not turn away. Briefly, she studies and assesses him. He looks at her. She gets a good look at him and seems to get a good vibe from him. Smirking, he turns to his terminal. The dastard slips a disk into the computer's drive. A minacious program enters the interconnected cyberspace between the sleuth and the spy.

Unaware, Misty Knight types upon her keyboard. The screen glows upon her face. Steady glare shines into her eyes, and she stares into the light. Her fingers dance. Glow shimmers upon her brow. Her eyes scan lambent lines and letters. Black font diffuses into a bright blur. Knight sighs and relaxes. Her arms drop to her sides. Sans blinking, she gazes into the glowing glass. She looks into the monitor, and it looks into her. A starry spiral enters her vision, and it winds into her mind. It purls her perception and psyche into a maelstrom. Deep into hypnosis, Misty Knight descends. Ringmaster's Nullatron technology has done its job.

Outside the psychedelia, Misty Knight sits still and stony staring bedazzled upon the computer screen. Spymaster sits beside her enthralled by his mesmerized mark. He is glad that Hammer technicians put the Nullatron's effect on a disk.

Spymaster need not even say anything to her. Simply, he types his words on his keyboard, and his commands appear on her screen. The precinct's intranet does his dirty work for him. No one hears anything nefarious. Security cameras capture nothing but two good guys serving and protecting New York.

"Pretend to work," he instructs. She complies. Seemingly, Knight reads data and works the mouse.

"I have instructions for you. Do you understand?" he asks. "Y."

"You will work here all night. You will not return to Nightwing Investigations until dawn, and you will not contact your dear Colleen Wing until dawn. Do you understand?" "Y."

"You will not contact Iron Fist to warn him of any danger this night. You will not help others to do so. You will only attempt contacting him upon hearing of his death. These attempts will seem futile. But, you will never accept that Danny is dead—no matter what others say. Do you understand?" "Y." Spymaster has to giggle. That post-mortem command really is a devilish touch.

The villain has a last edict, "Shanna the She-Devil is no longer your concern. She went home to the Savage Land. You cannot easily contact her there. She is completely safe and happy where she is right now. Do you understand?" "Y."

The master smiles slyly, "Touch my arm if you understand." Misty Knight's bionic right hand palms Nathan Lemon's [check name] fleshy left forearm. Coyly, he removes her cold hand and places it on her warm thigh. At Knight's shoulder, Spymaster listens to her breathe, and he ogles her throat. So easily, he could slit this sow's throat right now with his combat knife. He could behead her with pianowire. He could even strangle her slowly while she did not move an inch. He could completely have his way with her. However, security cameras watch Officer Smith and investigator Knight. And, Spymaster is a professional agent. Pavane wants her way with Knight later. Pavane wants her terrible revenge. Agent Spymaster is just facilitates.

At Officer Smith's shoulder, Sgt. King stares at the screen. Like Knight, King is unblinking. But, unlike Misty Knight, Master Khan is wholly unaffected by Ringmaster's silly device. He approaches a fool who is wholly unaware of Master Khan's presence. Upon impostor's pate, he places a ghostly hand, and the ghostly hand's fingers sink supernaturally through scoundrel's skull. Spymaster reacts not to the spectral intrusion. Spymaster does not even feel his façade being breached. Digit-deep in head, the warlock stirs brains as though stirring a witch's brew. He conjures. His buried talon feels and grasps. Khan comprehends, and his teeth grind viciously. Raptor's eyes shoot toward Pam and Ben at the desk. He knows what he must do.

An ethereal whisper interrupts the lovers' blithesome whispering at the desk. It is a chilling breeze in their ears and upon their faces. It tells them to look down the hallway. To their shock, Pam and Ben see an ominous costumed figure seated beside their colleague. Officer Smith is changed. A blue and gold mask hides his face, and a blue and gold commando uniform covers his person. Upon his chest, a dagger emblem indicates his violent and dangerous nature. If they knew supervillains better, the two cops would recognize Spymaster before them in full outfit. As is, they are very disturbed.

"Goddammit! I knew it! You're no cop. I don't know how changed your appearance so fast, Smith. But, you can freeze now, you sneaky sonofabitch!" Ben McMurty draws his snubnose.

Officer Smith views his reflection in the computer monitors. To his eyes, his disguise remains perfectly in place. Could the McMurtys possibly be seeing through his cover? Hidden in shadows, Khan cackles inaudibly at the four dupes before him. No one shall kill Iron Fist except Master Khan. Within Spymaster's little mind, the great master found the whole revenge plan. This plebian will pay for his insolence.

Pam approaches with crackling stungun in hand "Don't move." She produces cuffs. From a short distance, Ben keeps the intruder covered at gunpoint.

The invader is bemused, "What do you think that you're doing, Officer McMurty?"

"Apprehending the trespasser before me," Pam approaches.

Her husband Ben glances at Knight and then at the computer monitor, "Why is Misty Knight acting mesmerized and paralyzed? You aren't one of those hypno-perverts who hypnotizes women just to take advantage of them, are you?"

The master villain scoffs, "No. I am a much, much, much badder man. As you'll see."

The smirking, scoffing villain flings upon Pam the hot coffee that she brought him. Scalding slop splashes upon the sizzling stungun. In turn, the stungun sparks, pops, shorts in her hand. Pam spasms and seizes. Spymaster smashes her in the face breaking his mug upon her mug. Incensed, Ben bellows. He fires at close range into Smith's leg. The .38 caliber impact knocks Spymaster from his chair and onto the floor.

"Stay down, asshole!" the beat cop yells.

On the floor, Spymaster grits and grinds his teeth. He is not hurt. But, a gunshot is sure to bring more cops, and this place is a police station. The plan just got botched, and he is enraged.

Angry, Ben McMurty stomps toward a very dangerous man. Spymaster quickdraws his 9mm and fires pointblank into the veteran officer's chest. The cop flies backward, and his head bangs off of a steel file cabinet.

Smith hops up on an uninjured leg. A bullethole smokes on his thigh, "I'm wearing Kevlar beneath this cop uniform, grandpa. It's fairly new stuff. It's new stuff that helped retire you." He assumes the gray-haired cop to be quite dead. McMurty's left chest smokes a bit.

Shockingly, Ben McMurty staggers to his feet, "Well dummy, I'm wearing a bulletproof vest beneath _this_ cop uniform. A veteran knows to always wear one." Hot blood trickles from Ben's banged head.

Still semi-stunned, Pam staggers likewise to her feet. Blood drips from her broken nose beneath her busted glasses. She has also drawn her pistol, "And, a veteran NYPD archivist knows Ringmaster's Nullatron technology when she sees it. She knows also that it ain't gonna work with a bullet through it." Her revolver round goes through the monitor and kills the mesmerizing screen before catatonic Knight. Misty blinks but remains otherwise frozen.

To hell with it. All three cops are dying, and they are dying right fucken now. Pavane will just have to understand. Pam is first. First, Spymaster chops the handgun from Pam's hand. Then, with a sickening crack, he kicks her knee into the opposite direction. Wailing, she falls upon her back, and her lower leg flops down immediately after. Livid-faced, Ben McMurty raises his snubnose to Spymaster's mask. Spymaster raises his semi-auto into Ben's face.

"Drop it, grandpa. I'll kill you right in front of your darling wife," Spymaster stares down McMurty staring down him.

"Bullshit. I'll kill you right through the eyehole of your Kevlar mask," McMurty's hands aim the revolver at Spymaster's left eye.

What the hell is the grayhair talking about? "You're crazy. I don't need a Kevlar mask. I can shoot you twice before you ever fire one into my eyeball." Spymaster eyes McMurty's hands tight on the .38 special.

Then, the supervillain backs-up his boast. The first shot eliminates the handgun and hands pointed at him. A bullet blows open Ben's wrist. Armament and blood fall to the tiles. A half-attached hand hangs from exposed meat and bone. The second shot is for Ben's brain behind his furrowed forehead. Spymaster aims his piece and squeezes the trigger. But, sonofabitch! The gun jams! Nothing happens! Swiftly, snarling Smith re-prepares the weapon. Suddenly, he hears someone's steps fast approaching behind him. Sonofabitch! He needs to slaughter apace McMurty and then some other pig. Snarling, he re-squeezes the trigger. But, sonofabitch! The weapon jams again! In the shadows, Khan cackles and cackles.

Ben McMurty's fist stuns Spymaster. With a remaining good hand, the civil servant strikes the master criminal across the face. Spymaster is shocked at his inferior's amazing toughness. Before him, Ben is going into shock. He staggers and sprays crimson. The master raises his rod to pistolwhip a vulnerable subordinate. Then, a shotgun butt cracks the cruel criminal across the cheek instead. Smith's teeth pelt McMurty's uniform. Ben smiles. Rafael Scarfe has returned. From behind, he hit vulnerable villain about to hit vulnerable hero. With trembling fingers, that hero reaches for the cuffs on his belt. He is going to apprehend this scumbag. Then, abruptly, Ben collapses. He passes-out beside his wife Pam upon the floor.

With amazing toughness, Spymaster is still on his feet. He staggers. Scarfe levels the twelve gauge into Smith's face. The captain commands the maniac cop before him, "Don't move. Drop your weapon. I didn't fire while approaching you. I could have hit Misty or Ben. But now, my barrel is right in your goddam puss. And, I will blow that goddam puss apart—if you don't drop your weapon."

Smirking Smith drops his sidearm into its holster. Red dribble drips from his jaw. Scarfe is irritated, "Drop the weapon on the ground!"

"No. But, I'll give up," smirking Smith raises his palms in surrender. Winking, he locks his fingers behind his head and steps right up to the lethal muzzle.

"What are you? A wiseguy?" Scarfe considers downing the perp. The policeman does not have this situation under control.

"No, I'm not a wiseguy. But, you are a dumb cop," the intelligence agent answers, "Let me teach you something, detective." As Scarfe reacts, the player punts the pump gun high. Pellets blast ceiling plaster and harsh dust clouds the air. Temporarily, Scarfe is blind. In the dustcloud, Spymaster tornadokicks Scarfe right off of his feet. The shotgun flies away. As the dust settles, Scarfe sees that Smith has redrawn his 9 mm.

The master lectures, "Let me remind you of something, cop. When arresting an armed man, you disarm him first. Instead, you smashed me in the fucken teeth. Now, I still have my gun. And, I'm going to use that gun to shoot you in the face a couple times before putting one in your temple. You know, I have to wonder if you're a real cop."

Spymaster tastes bitter blood in his mouth. Some splats on the punk at his feet. Scarfe stares up at the livid psycho staring down at him. The lawman has a sidearm on his hip, but he cannot hope to draw it in time. He sees a finger begin to pressure the semi-auto's trigger. Cap. Rafael Scarfe is going to die.

Then, he doesn't. A mighty right hand clamps criminal forearm. An angry automated arm yanks jerk into the computer counter with powerful force. Spymaster's hand shatters upon the table edge, and he is disarmed. From ballooning appendage, he drops his weapon. Great grip crunches his radius and ulna with a pop and a crack. Finally, Spymaster screams this evening after neither Shanna nor the cops could make him do so. Knight's bionic arm slams him into the countertop again, and Spymaster feels perhaps his back give out. Her glare fixates upon him angrily while he fights futilely her punishing grip. She stands up, and her left knuckles fly forward. Fist into his bloody mouth. Fist into his eye. Fist into his nose. Fist into his cheek. Fist into his nose again. Backhand across his ugly face. With an ominous cock, Knight draws her .44 and places it between Spymaster's breasts. The hand cannon discharges into his chest. Beneath body armor, that'll leave a wicked bruise. Her vise releases. On wobbly legs, Spymaster thinks that he soon passes out. Out of nowhere, Rafael Scarfe uppercuts him. And, Spymaster is out. He flops upon the dirty, bloodied floor, and his busted arm follows immediately after.

Other police arrive from upstairs. Scarfe's supervisor Denny (see Power Man and Iron Fist #122) takes charge. "Let's get medical care for Pam and Ben right away," Denny commands, "We'll get EMS for this asshole too—eventually. I think that we need to interrogate him first."

Rafael Scarfe is a good man, and he frowns. But, he is angry. And, he knows how things work in the NYPD sometimes. He goes toward the phone at Pam's desk. He will get the McMurtys some care. Smith will just have to suffer an unfortunate fate for awhile.

Misty Knight is a hero. "I don't want this loser tortured. Even if he did have the balls to attack police in a police station."

"Well maybe, we'll have to remove his balls," Denny shrugs and smiles, "What do you think of that, tough guy?" The superior officer kicks the downed offender several times.

Knight states coldly, "I will get a costumed vigilante or two in here if need be. Or, I can take you down myself, Denny."

"Misty, come here," Pam murmurs from the floor. Misty walks over and kneels down. She leans in to hear her hurt colleague's whimpering whisper.

Knight nods, "You have a good idea, Pam. Let us see what Smith had on his computer screen. It is still up." The investigator reads. Suddenly, her conscious mind recalls receiving certain commands under hypnosis. She frowns. Shanna, Danny, and Colleen are all in immediate danger tonight. She needs to warn and to help them. Her partner Colleen is the first concern. The Daughter of the Dragon will rush to her sister first.

"I guess you get your alone time with the suspect, Denny," Knight is not pleased to announce, "However, nothing had better happen. Or, I'll be—around."

"I'll be around too, Misty," Scarfe has returned from using the phone. The former friend gives the ex-cop a reassuring pat on the arm. Misty Knight departs to kick some ass. Once she leaves, Denny gives Rafael a look. Torn, the captain frowns. Nervously, he lights a cigarette to mellow his nerves. His cheaters look over a prone, bloody, battered human being looking at him. Nathan Lemon, Spymaster, sees a cold face and a burning light step toward him.

Later, light burns into Spymaster's bloody, sore eyes. It shines upon his blood-crusted face. He is handcuffed, both hand and foot, to a gurney. This gurney stands in an infirmary in the 12th Precinct's basement. The room is cold, and the gurney is chilling. Nathan Lemon lies in his skivvies wearing neither weapons nor armor nor clothing. Only his naked skin and his discolored injuries are manifest. Outside the door, he knows that Denny stands guard.

"You can't do this," Spymaster tells the sinister figure to his left.

"You have not dealt with the NYPD much, have you?" the deviant officer gazes upon metal instruments reflecting into his dark face, "We're going to teach you a lesson. I'm going to teach you a lesson."

"You had better let me loose right fucken now! Otherwise, I'll teach you a lesson. You don't know who I am," the semi-naked man threatens.

Tyrone King turns around, "You are Spymaster, Nathan."

Surprised, Nathan replies, "Yeah, I am the Spymaster. I know a bunch of bad-asses, human tanks, and crazies who could raze this entire police station and who would splatter you all over the walls."

"You know Taskmaster, for you are his pupil, and you know Justin Hammer and his armored flunkies, and you know Pavane and her gang of losers and degenerates. Yes, I know all of these things that you know," King covers the bad-asses, human tanks, and crazies of whom Spymaster speaks.

The intelligence agent is speechless. His re-arranged face has a puzzled look. Then, he finds a basic query to ask, "Who are you?"

"I am the man who, one day, will kill Iron Fist, not you," King wags a finger, "I am called Master Khan." Audaciously, Tyrone King transmogrifies into Master Khan before amazed Spymaster. The sorcerer stands in flowing purple robes and blue rebato.

"You're a master con alright. You're a disguised bad guy operating in a cop shop. That's kinda friggin' funny actually," Spymaster manages a chuckle out of fat lips.

Khan places a blade upon Lemon's abdomen, "You will now stop laughing and will soon start screaming. I shall teach you a lesson about invading my territory and plans. I shall send Pavane a warning when she sees what things that I have done to you."

The thug prepares to be brave. He has been trained to withstand torture. But then, he hears footsteps outside the infirmary's door. They echo in the basement corridor. Someone says something to Denny standing guard. With destroyed face, Spymaster grins. Good ol' Justin Hammer. Khan becomes King once more. The police sergeant approaches the door. He glances back at his prisoner and then looks at the door. He seems to be considering his next nefarious move.